


D.A.R.E.

by zsomeone



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Crack, M/M, crack porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-19
Updated: 2010-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-16 21:02:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3502631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zsomeone/pseuds/zsomeone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Called so because you’re going to want some drugs soon.)<br/>I was given this equation and told to solve it:  (Flamingo + Toothpaste + Tutu) x (Murderface + Charles) = X<br/>Warnings: I suck at math, and I’m drunk.  Also... come on, read that.  It can’t end well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	D.A.R.E.

“If you brush your teeth with a flamingo while wearing a tutu, I’ll suck your dick.” Charles didn’t usually make this sort of offer, but in this case he felt he was safe enough.  
Murderface scowled at him, both for being a dick and for bringing personal hygiene into the equation. Toothpaste, _really_? Was that necessary? After all he was offering a blowjob, not to _kiss_ him.   
“That’s the deal, Murderface. And I’m afraid I’ll have to see you do this in front of me if you want to collect.”

Charles went back to business, confident that the man’s poor personal hygiene would prevent this from ever coming to pass. Hopefully he would brush his teeth, but it would be pretty much impossible to do so with a very large live bird. And in a tutu... well, he’d never do that.  
But if the nasty little man at least brushed his teeth, all would be well.  
Yes, the fate of the universe hung on Murderface’s unused toothbrush. Well not really, but that sounds nice and dramatic, doesn’t it?

Murderface was plotting evilly, because what other way is there to plot this sort of thing? Charles had fucked up, he hadn’t specified what kind of flamingo it had to be. Clearly a live bird just wouldn’t do. Clearly it would have to be a fake of some sort. Clearly... stop calling me Clearly. Wait... Shirley. Never mind, wrong show, moving on...  
So Murderface was hunting for a flamingo-shaped toothbrush. No such item seemed to exist, so he moved on to lawn flamingos. That would still count.

****

Charles was contentedly doing his usual paperwork when Murderface waltzed into the room carrying a plastic flamingo and a tube of toothpaste. He stared in horror as the man spun, making his tutu stand out and revealing that he had nothing at all on underneath it.  
Charles threw up a little in his mouth, but managed to hold himself together. But if he brushed his teeth with the flamingo...  
He did. He really did it, running a thick line of toothpaste down the neck and rubbing it across his mouth while grinning obscenely.

Requirements met, Murderface perched awkwardly on the corner of the CFO’s desk, while the small desk fan made his tutu flutter. He grinned down at the horrified manager and smacked his toothpaste-encrusted lips. “Well come on big boy, you schaid you’d schuck my dick. Now do it!”  
The tutu waved, as if the gnarled member beneath it wanted to say howdy. Charles stared as if faced with a cobra, then suddenly turned and puked into his trash can. Oh dear god, just the _sight_ of it...  
But he was a man of his word. Summoning his ninja side, he attempted to clear his mind for the job ahead. (Blowjob, that is. White splooge, Murderface tea.)

Relaxed and zen, his sense of smell completely suppressed, Charles leaned in and nuzzled his way under the tutu. Murderface spread his legs, freeing an ass scent that Charles only barely managed to ignore. ‘Think blistered hotdog,’ he kept telling himself as Murderface’s lumpy manhood slid between his lips.  
‘It’s a hotdog, it’s a hotdog, it’s a hotdog...”  
No. It wasn’t a hotdog, it was Murderface’s unwashed penis.  
And he was sucking it.

Murderface, who wasn’t nearly as dirty as everyone thought (he has a body odor problem, okay?) was enjoying the manager’s attention. He _wasn’t_ gay, not even a little bit gay, but it made him feel powerful to have his employee sucking him off. “That’sch right... schuck it. Way to schrew your way to the top, you schlut.”  
The manager continued to suck, now petting his balls in a pleading manner. It was clear that he just wanted to get this over with, but Murderface had other plans. “If you let me fuck you, you won’t have to taschte it.”

That (sadly) made a lot of sense. “Fine, let’s do that.” Charles stood, dropped his pants, and bent over his desk. At least he didn’t have to smell it now.  
Murderface stood as well, and grabbed a handful of fake saliva from the stamp-licker apparatus. He slopped it on his dick, then carefully shoved it up the poor manager’s ass.  
It was tighter and better than he’d expected, maybe Charles _didn’t_ close all his deals with butt sex as they’d always theorized.

Charles whimpered in horror as the lumpy schlong invaded his ass (personal space invader!), but hung on to his desk and took it like a man. Like a man getting fucked up the ass by a lumpy dick with fake for saliva lube, that is.  
Fortunately for our poor abused CFO, Murderface didn’t last too long. Probably because it had been a long time since he’d actually fucked anyone who was alive. (Not that he fucked the dead, but he was perfectly willing to fuck sex dolls. And did so.)  
Murderface pulled out, grabbed his flamingo, and pirouetted out of the room.

Charles sank into his chair gratefully, only to realize the was now sitting in a growing puddle of Murderface jizz that was leaking from is ass. This was disgusting on so many levels, not the least of which was that it could ruin his pants.  
Calling it a night, he retired to his quarters and took an excessively long shower.   
Murderface semen... leaking... horror... nightmares were waiting.  
He would have to be far more careful with his wording in the future, this _could not_ happen again.


End file.
